Fly On The Wall
by wretchedheartbreak
Summary: A series of one-shots circling the Hetalia world in general, filled with romance, drama, humour, etc. Please look inside for more information.
1. White Lightning

_Note: Before reading, please scroll down to the bottom of the page to be offered an explanation of just what this is._

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><p>He had fallen asleep at the meeting again, and with much effort from the rest of the countries, they had prevented another needless decapitation at the hands of a certain Russian nation. But now, he sat alone to the right of the head of the table, arms crossed in front of him, the mess of blonde hair half-buried in their comforting embrace. The sounds of light snoring were discernible in the quiet expanse of the room. They hadn't bothered waking him up; it was just as well. It would be much quieter, as America had so jokingly put it.<p>

But now it was dead late at night, and England still had not woken up. Outside, the clouds raged with turmoil; the dew that had hung so stubbornly onto the glass panes slowly cracked as they froze. It was a hefty twenty-eight degrees, and the climate had been rather unpredictable as of late. Even through the heated room, the frigid fingers of frost seeped through, an unconsciously, the male shuddered – but did not awake. He was that much asleep.

Amidst the cackling thunderclouds and tufts of frozen rain that fell from the heavens, the sounds of muted footsteps were discernible. The door creaked open, echoes racing throughout the noiseless room, the creak timed just right to be heard above the growling thunder. The slight noise caused the blonde to mumble incoherently in his sleep, but nonetheless, he resumed his deep slumber. Once he had settled, the newcomer crept in, glasses glinting briefly as lightning flashed across the sky. He paused, eyes blinking, before he tilted his head sideways and smiled shyly. A faint blush coloured his cheeks scarlet, as he twiddled his fingers together as though contemplating on his next course of actions.

It was a good few seconds before he jolted, as though shocked by a sudden realization. Snapping his fingers lightly, he bent over, brown gloves rummaging through the bag that slung across his body. Crinkling patterns and reverberations were emitted, before both hands stabilized, pulling out a large rectangular fabric. It was marked with red and white stripes, with a blue rectangular square by the top-left corner, and the picture of stars dotted evenly on it. Folding it over his arm, he crept forward, his face tensed, as though taking care not to disturb the slumbering man. Once he had crossed the few feet that separated them, he bent over the blonde's hunched shoulders, draping the blanket over him. He cringed back, eyes widening in tight fear, when the other stirred. He relaxed visibly when he found that it was no disturbance.

Seemingly content, the male bent over, kissing the blonde's hair with nothing more than a peck. He stared at the other, eyes boring into the back of the other's head, before he looked away quickly, a melancholic look now on his face. Adjusting his glasses which now dangerously hung off the rim of his nose, he tucked the stray curl behind his ear. He sighed. He shook his head once, before heading out the solitary room, clicking and locking the door in place.

Funnily enough, the door had woken up the other. Albeit groggily, England looked around rather dizzily, before emerald eyes that glowed in the dark set their sights on the new addition around his shoulders. He frowned. "Mmm, America?" he asked, to no one and anyone. There was no answer. A few seconds passed before he shrugged, head slamming back down on his waiting arms as he resumed his sleep. A muttered "Mmm, that bloody git" escaped his lips, just before he lapsed back into the waiting arms of sleep. The smile on his face was unmistakeably evident.

However, had the male kept himself conscious long enough to observe his surroundings well enough, he would have noted that seemingly inanimate white object that lay sprawled on the floor where the other man had been standing. Funnily enough, it looked something akin to a polar bear.

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><p>AN: I always think putting a crap ton of text on the top looks so messy, so I put it down here. xD Any ways, this piece is called **Fly On The Wall**. It will be a series of chapters 1000 words or less, short one-shots of situations in the Hetalia world. As is suggested by the title, it will take the third person objective point of view, so not only will it be easier for me, but you, as the reader will have to decipher hidden meanings, haha!

This first chapter is a... prototype of sorts, so please let me know what I can do to improve and whatever else. Also, please, _please _review? c:

Finally, this style is like those "Letters to (insert country name here)" writings. This means that I am absolutely_open _to you guys messaging me situations you want to see me write here, or do it in a review, it doesn't matter! After all, I can't think of all the situations, and plus, I might be able to help satisfy some fangirling cravings. Please don't be shy and it doesn't matter the genre of the situation. This one is serious because that's... the kind of writer I am, but if you want to see a humorous (like, say, France cooking for England or w/e, haha) or even a heartbreaking situation, feel free to suggest one and I'll see what I can do!


	2. A Knife In The Back

They would always be referred to as siblings. She knew that, even if everyone else did not. The way they dressed – always the theme of purple and pale white, something of a soothing, quieting effect – and the similar hair colour encouraged her that she was right.

She never needed anyone else to say otherwise.

She stared at her reflection in the mirror now, her eyes flicking back and forth from that to the picture that almost dominated the full-length glass. On it was the picture of a male, whose face framed with boyish locks of white matched hers, and there was a slow but steady grin of satisfaction. There, atop the picture, was a minute cowlick that most often neglected, for it was well-known that her brother didn't particularly have the best reputation. With a concentrated frown, she leaned forward, staring at the abnormality before moving her own fingers, almost mechanically, but somehow still lovingly, atop her own tresses. Two fingers pinched the back of her head in a way that mimicked the brother, and she glanced at herself in the mirror once more.

She nodded once in approval. She seemed happy, satisfied.

The look of satisfaction on her face oozed off, replaced by one of melancholy, as the glassy indigo eyes surveyed the room, at once ceasing in their trip as they landed upon an ornate dresser. It looked to be carved meticulously, the fine attention to detail evident on the raised, wooden carvings of the Russian flag, alternated rhythmically with that of the flag of Belarus. However, the effect was muted, muted as the colours of these flags had been, severely limited to brown, brown and more brown of the table. She walked towards the offending thing, scowling at it, her steady but pale fingers trailing noiselessly down the etchings. Almost lovingly, she stroked the thrice-divided monochrome Russia flag, a sigh of contentment leaving her lips. For the flag that alternated with that, she spared only a scowl, but for the flag that represented her brother, she could always offer a shy smile.

But then, her soft strokings ceased, and with even more precision and caution, closed her now shaking fingers against the metallic knob that addressed the entrance to the first drawer. Wood scraped against wood, as though the rough surface of sandpaper were refining newly refurbished furniture. It sounded like gritting teeth, but not quite, for it possessed a smoothness to it that was, at the same time, rough, a sound unachievable through anything else than this. Soon, it was then accompanied by the tinkling of metal, and a sliver of silver caught against her face, illuminating the purple eyes.

She sighed again, but this, it sounded more like resignation than adoration.

Reaching in, she pulled out a metallic object, sharp in the dull light of the room. It possessed a serrated edge, little bristles along on one side and on the other was a completely smooth line. With practiced hands, she gripped the black handle and lifted it up to her face, one finger lovingly stroking the smooth side of the knife.

She then glanced at the time, and wordlessly, stowed the weapon underneath her sleeve, treading on to a path that was eerily similar as the journey to a certain Russian's house.

There were three figures huddled in the corner, by the window of the elegant mansion that looked to be the living room. Of differing heights and easily discernible, these were the Baltic States, their eyes glued to whatever had captured their attention from the inside. Raptured so, they did not hear the footsteps from the female approaching from behind, nor the swishing of her maiden dress, their whispers increasing in treble.

"We have to kill him now while he is asleep," one of them says, and there is a twitch in her eye.

"Yes, we're not afraid of him. There's three of us and only one of him. He's too naïve and too dangerous to let live. Got the weapons?"

A patch of grass whined as she stepped on it with more force than necessary, crunching the piece of greenery with vile force. This, finally, seemed to have caught the attention of the trio, whose expressions ranged from dumbfounded to surprised. Flashes of rage emanated from her features, the aura of a psychopathic serial killer engorging her body. If not similar enough, the raised knife in her hand further clinched the similarity, and now, the expressions were of only one and the same: pure, unrated fear.

With whimpers, the three dropped their weapons to the floor with melancholic clangs, a mad rush towards the front porch of the house. She smiled, licking the smooth knife with a twisted tongue, before stowing it back once more in its safe place – her sleeve.

A chuckle left her grim lips.

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><p>AN: Next chapter!~ Now we know the truth behind the Baltic states. Or, well, not, if you didn't get that. This is updated seldomly, but ah, well. Inspiration doesn't come all at once, does it? Well, have a good day, readers! And I'm still open to some suggestions for some situations/plots!


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